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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531752">Meat Swap</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tan_lines/pseuds/Tan_lines'>Tan_lines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Complete, Dean Winchester Has Flashbacks of Hell, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e12 Swap Meat, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Ghosts, Guilty Dean Winchester, Guilty Sam Winchester, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Help, M/M, Magic, Nightmares, Season/Series 05, Sorry Not Sorry, This Is STUPID, Trauma, Voicemail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:47:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tan_lines/pseuds/Tan_lines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a weird case, even for the Winchesters. Something is causing havoc in the town of Black Mountain, North Carolina, and while trying to solve it, Sam and Dean find themselves in the middle of the weirdest intervention on Earth. Can they survive the next 72 hours? The better question is, will they actually learn something?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It's bad for your complexion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok I know there are like a million of these but.... I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. (Yeah I was rewatching season 5 and I found myself bemoaning the lack of a Sam/Dean bodyswap again) Hopefully this is sort of original? Or at least readable...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dude, what's up with this case?” Dean said, scrolling through the documents Sam had compiled a few days before. Sam sat on the motel bed, typing away on his own laptop, completely ignoring his brother. Despite this, Dean continued.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, come on! Four missing persons, a boy with horns, some chick with armor, a bunch of celebrity sightings, and a mayor illegally selling cheese. All headlines from Buttfuck North Carolina in the past two weeks. What the hell is happening in this town?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know dude, but it is weird. Weirder than normal. Definitely our type of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course it’s our type of thing. Probably just some crazy ghost or very bad magic water making people go crazy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, I guess we’ll find out, but something tells me it’s gonna be a bit more complicated than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be such a downer Sammy,” Dean smirked as Sam packed the laptop into his duffel and tossed him the keys. “It’s bad for your complexion.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” Sam replied, only allowing himself to smile when Dean turned his back.</p><p> </p><p>It was as close as they had gotten to a normal conversation in weeks, the combined heaviness of Ruby’s betrayal and the Apocalypse bearing down on them. It wasn’t their first non-apocalypse related hunt, but still everything felt raw, untested. Sam was starting to sympathize with Atlas, except of course that the Greek legend hadn’t failed his brother and started the end of the world.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, now alone in the tiny room that had been their home for a while. Bobby was still in the hospital, and Cas was searching for God of all things. Sam wanted so badly to believe they had a chance, but then he would hear Lucifer’s voice in his head, whispering. </p><p> </p><p><em> Stop fighting this, it’s your destiny. It’s </em> you <em> Sam, it’s always been you... it </em> had <em> to be you </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The soothing lilt of Satan’s promises rattled around in his skull constantly, his dreams becoming one big fucked up playground of sweet nothings. At this point, Sam didn’t know whether the Devil was even visiting him anymore, or if he was just so messed up that his brain was creating it itself.</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head and followed his brother to the parking lot. Dean was leaning against the Impala, eyes rolled back and mouth open in annoyance. As Sam walked around to the passenger side, Dean huffed and grunted.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeez, you take any longer and the world’s gonna end without us.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, the weight that had been momentarily lifted fell back down like an eight-ton funeral shroud. The car’s doors squeaked loudly against the sharp hush of the night air, and Sam let the familiar rumble of her engine drown out the increasingly spiteful thoughts in his head. </p><p> </p><p>It was a four hour drive to Black Mountain, they spent it in silence.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>It was just after dawn when they pulled into Black Mountain, the gleaming black muscle car a stark contrast to the dust coated pick-ups and sedans. They pulled into the driveway of a motel that was both cheap and closer to the heart of the town.</p><p> </p><p>“Alrighty, stop number one?” Dean asked. He had been trying to ease up on Sam, to give him a little more say, but it was difficult when the man acted like a moody teen half the time. “Seriously Sam, get that oversized head of yours out of the clouds and back on this case.”</p><p> </p><p>His brother gave him the patented Winchester Bitchface before answering Dean’s original question.</p><p> </p><p>“Well we should definitely stop by the police station. See if they’ve made anything out of the multiple cases going on here.” He looked back out the window of the parked Impala as he continued, counting on his fingers while he spoke. “The families and friends of the four that went missing, the people who saw the girl knight and the celebrities, and of course that boy with the ‘strange skull growths’.” He snorted at the last one, rolling his eyes at the poor explanation. </p><p> </p><p>“Ok then. Split up, you press the cops for clues and I’ll go woo the witnesses.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, you don’t possibly think you can talk to all those people today. Maybe just stick to that kid and then we can investigate the rest tomorrow.”</p><p>“Dude, chill. I’m a big boy, I can handle asking beatniks a few questions.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam just huffed and looked back down at his hands. “Yeah, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to work with Sam. He could see he was trying, always following Dean and never arguing, at least not like he used to. He could also see how hurt his brother was. He didn’t miss the long, empty stares or the thrashing at night or the way his eyes would cloud when Dean said something seemingly normal. But he pretended to. </p><p> </p><p>However he had meant what he said in that hospital parking lot. Every word. He didn’t trust his brother because, well, we wasn’t sure he really <em> knew </em> his brother anymore. It sort of felt like he had been punched in the face over and over again until he was left broken and bleeding. </p><p> </p><p>First he found out that Sam was drinking demon blood, and had been lying to him. Then, the angels wanted to start Armageddon. The next thing he knew, Lucifer was free and <em> his </em> Sammy had let him loose (with black eyes no less), Bobby was paralyzed, he was the true vessel for an archangel and Sam was too. In the span of about a week, his entire life sort of unraveled in front of him, the collapse of the Great Wall of Dean, revealing pile after pile of bullshit behind it. So yeah, he was a little touchy. </p><p> </p><p> Almost as if he sensed the start of Dean’s bad mood, Sam got out of the car. Though not necessary for check-in at the Acorn Motel, they were already in their fed suits. All they had to do was grab a room for later and hit the road, but even simple things seemed difficult nowadays, like they were just waiting for fire to rain from the skies and the water to run red. It wasn’t as far fetched as it sounded though, seeing as that had already happened in River Pass, Colorado.</p><p>It took less than five minutes, and then they were back on the road. Dean dropped Sam off at the police station and headed off towards the Swannanoa Valley Medical Center, where their horned boy had been for a week.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>The sight was not one Dean had expected. Apparently, the kid had had the ‘tumors’ removed the previous day, and was completely out for the count on painkillers. But his mom was kinda hot, so he tried his luck.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re from the CDC?” Mrs. Cortese asked, switching between wringing her hands nervously and tugging on her long blonde hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, me and my partner are going around town, trying to see if any of the weird stuff going on around here is connected.”</p><p>“You think it’s some disease? Or there’s something in the water?” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Now, can you tell me what happened?”</p><p>“Well,” she began, eyes flickering to the prone form of her son on the hospital bed, “He was late from school one day. Not much, just a half hour or so, I wasn’t really worried… but he wasn’t talking much. Just said he had a weird day you know?”</p><p>Dean nodded, it didn’t sound too unbelievable so far. He gestured for her to continue.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course that was Friday. The next morning, he wasn’t up when he usually was. I thought he was just sleeping in, it was a weekend, and you know how boys are…” She trailed off, lost in a memory. Dean stopped himself from snapping his fingers in her face, instead resorting to clearing his throat. She came back with a small, apologetic smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry Agent. Anyway, I went into his room to wake him up and that’s when I saw…” Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. “He had these two, giant, white horns on his head. I thought he was playing some sort of joke, a costume prank or something… but… He woke up and he was screaming.”</p><p>She put her head in her hands, now sobbing quietly. Dean stood awkwardly off to the side, waiting for her to compose herself. He had dealt with this countless times, though still, Sam was the sensitive one, the one who always had the right words. But his brother wasn’t here, so he just waited.</p><p>It was a minute or two before she was able to continue. </p><p> </p><p>“So I, uh, called an ambulance. They said it was a… a tumor or a growth. Excess bone from his skull. But there’s no way something like that could grow overnight, right Agent?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not in normal circumstances anyway.” He said, pulling out his card. “If you could call me when he wakes up, I’ll have more questions.”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded, swiping at her cheek and taking the offered card. As he left, he caught a glimpse of hope in her watery eyes. He hoped they could solve this and prove her right.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>Next stop was their house. He jimmied the front door, pulling out his EMF meter as he entered. Room after room there was nothing. No EMF spikes, no sulfur smell or cold spots. Dean was starting to get frustrated, and was about to give up when he lifted the mattress of the boy’s bed. Between the rusty springs was a small, leather bag tied with twine. Hex bag.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>“Hey man, how was your search?” Sam said as Dean entered the motel room, pizza box in hand.</p><p> </p><p>Dean sighed and placed it on the table Sam was working at.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I talked to the kid’s mom and the family of the four missing.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t get much out of them. Found out the girls were close friends, liked LARPing and hung out a lot at ‘Ren fairs’, whatever the hell those are. The old lady was too hung up on her glory days and the weatherman liked taking long walks in the rain. Oh yeah, and his wife was definitely cheating on him.”</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes, seeing that Dean was leaving out the most important information. He had that look in his eye, like he had something to reveal but was holding it off for the right moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything else you find?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean smirked. “Glad you asked Sammy. Searched a total of five houses and,” he said, pulling a bundle from his pocket and tossing it on top of the pizza box, “found a total of five hex bags.”</p><p>Sam looked up in surprise, immediately opening the bags and laying out their contents as Dean grabbed a slice and went over to his bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Witches then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Witches, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“So the boy with the horns, and the four missing, all had to do with witchcraft? It doesn’t make much sense. I already checked their backgrounds, there’s no connection between them. A highschool freshman with a DnD obsession, two college girls, a 60 year old former beauty pageant winner, and the local weatherman. Witches usually maim and kill over grudges, out of spite, but these people are complete strangers, that, and as far as we know none of them are dead. There’s nothing there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe there’s something we’re missing. But we gotta find it if we wanna find this witch. Or witches.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah alright. I’ll see if I can track any patterns in their behavior before they went missing.” He nabbed a slice of his own. “What are you going to be doing tomorrow?” He asked, still chewing.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s more cases right? I’ll see if Mr. Illegal Cheese has any hex bags in his office. That and I still need to ask around, maybe see if I can catch a celebrity or two.”</p><p> </p><p>“And there was that girl in medieval armor remember? Some hiker thought he saw her in the woods just outside town. Could be our witch.”</p><p> </p><p>“One sighting does not a compelling case make, dear Watson. “ Dean said in a horrible british accent. “Nah,” he continued in a normal voice, “It’s probably either a crazy hiker or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, Dean.” Sam sighed, going back to his computer screen. Still unwilling to argue. Dean frowned before returning to his pizza.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>It had been five hours since Dean had left the motel. After all he had heard from the townsfolk, he had been expecting to see Paris Hilton or Zac Efron waltzing down Main. But nothing, nada, not even Susan Boyle. He was beginning to think they were making it up for attention, when a glimpse out his rearview mirror made him slam on the brakes.</p><p> </p><p>Pulling the Impala into a sloppy parallel park, he rushed out and back around the street corner. Again, he saw just the edge of a tan trench coat as what was definitely Castiel fled down an alleyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” He called, jogging after the angel. Castiel didn’t turn around, just started walking faster. Dean growled, <em> so this was how it was going to be </em>? He slipped across a side street, and made a loop, cutting Cas off as he neared a larger road. The angel stopped in shock, and put his hands up in the air, a look of panic crossing his face.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no please! Just, leave me alone alright!”</p><p> </p><p>“Cas, what the hell? Why are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>He just shook his head, hands still raised like he was holding off an attacker.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I have no idea who that is. I’m not who you think I am alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean snorted, and in a moment he had Cas pinned against the alley wall, hand on the gun in his back pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you talking about?” He shouted, making the Not-Castiel whimper.</p><p> </p><p>“Please! My name is Jenneane Winters! I live on Cragmont Road, and I don’t know anyone named Cas!”</p><p>He eased his grip on the throat of the person against the wall, who still looked very much like his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Jenneane Winters? The missing woman?”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded, not taking her eyes off of his face. He could feel her trembling slightly. He groaned, and pressed two fingers into his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, what the hell.” He scanned Jenneane again, but could find no visible difference between his Cas and what apparently was one of their cases. “OK. You’re coming with me, and you’re gonna explain everything, got it?”</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>“So get this,” Sam began, his voice echoing over the phone speaker, “I found the ‘Knight’ in the woods. It’s the two college girls, one is stuck up in some sort of tower and it looks like the one in the armor is trying to save her. I tried to talk to them, but one wasn’t listening and the other… well the tower didn’t exactly have a door.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well I might have that beat.” Dean said, pacing back and forth in Jenneane’s living room as she sat sipping tea in her easy chair.</p><p> </p><p>“What? Where are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I found Ms. Winters. Turns out she’s the cause of all the celeb sightings. Talked to some girl at the park and all of a sudden everyone who looks at her sees the person they’re most attracted to.” He grimaced, then added, “Or at least, that’s how she describes it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, a girl at a park? Did she say which one?”</p><p>“Why, that important?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I revisited Horn-boy, his mom called you back, said he was awake. Anyway, he told me he was stopped by some girl about his age when he was passing by Riverwalk park. She told him that she wanted to help him. Touched his forehead or something and the next thing he knew he was standing outside his house.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean put his hand over the phone, and mouthed ‘Riverwalk’ to Jenneane, who nodded from behind her teacup, Castiel’s bright blue eyes shining under cat-eye reading glasses.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep, same park. Probably the same girl. You thinking what I’m thinking Sammy?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, that this is the weirdest witch in the history of witches?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well that, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘we should drop by that park’. Know what I mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I get it Dean. Meet you back at the motel.”</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>It was nearing midnight when the Impala pulled up to the closed park gates. To add to the atmosphere, a full moon shed ghostly light on the wrought iron fence, it’s light partially hidden behind thick clouds. </p><p> </p><p>The trunk hinges squeaked as the brothers gathered supplies. They didn’t have much that was witch specific, just their pistols, hidden knives, lighters and pages of hasty counterspells Sam had researched earlier that day.</p><p> </p><p>After they had closed and locked the car, they exchanged a look. Dean’s filled with confidence and swagger, Sam’s with hesitance and concern.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure we’re ready for this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on Sam, there’s nothing more we could do. Let’s just get it over with,” He grinned at his brother and patted him on the shoulder. “What do you bet we’ll find and take her down in time for dessert?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam just rolled his eyes, cautiously smiling back. Together, they unlocked the gate and stepped into the too quiet park. That was the first thing they noticed… the complete lack of sound. No wind rustling in the trees, no chirping of crickets or calling of birds. The night was absolutely silent and still. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly they made their way nearer to the center, guns held low, but ready. They passed countless signs and ferns and flower beds, their steps softly crushing the manicured grass until they reached the clearing that marked the middle of the park. There stood a single bench surrounded by tall trees and overgrown bushes, the plants becoming a dark protector of the witch who was sitting there. There was no wind, but the leaves and stalks that were huddled around her swayed drunkenly, caught in a spell.</p><p> </p><p>She was slight and blond, no older than 14, although her face looked younger. The light pink dress she was wearing had a red sash that circled her waist and spilled over the side of her leg like a stream of blood, and her lips were painted the same color. Both Sam and Dean felt a chill down their spine, as she looked eerily similar to the young girl Lilith had possessed before Dean went to Hell, if slightly older. She sat in perfect stillness, her hands folded lightly on her lap, her smile pleasant and unassuming. Dean raised his gun when she spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering when you would drop by. Most hunters take a little longer. You two were quite expedient if I do say so.” Her voice was soft with the hint of a British accent as she looked them up and down. “Surprising really, your issues would cripple most men. But you two are special, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“The hell do you know, bitch.” Dean growled. Sam sent him a warning look.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, mostly everything.” She smiled wider, even as Dean’s finger inched towards the trigger. “You two are so very interesting. Your desires, your fears, your trauma. I felt it as soon as you hit town, and I knew what I had to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what’s that?” Sam said, inching closer to his brother.</p><p> </p><p>“Why to help of course! It’s what I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Help?” Said Dean, stepping away from Sam and towards the witch. “How have you helped anyone in this town?” He hissed, gesturing with the barrel of his gun. “You’re nothing but a rotten, fluid-spilling, petty witch.”</p><p> </p><p>She stood up abruptly, eyes flashing.</p><p> </p><p>“Do not dare presume Dean Winchester.” Her voice was deadly calm. “My spells are not meant to harm. The people you have met are happier than they were before, even if they do not yet realize it. I looked into their hearts and minds, and if I did not give them what they desired, I gave them what they needed.” She paused, her smile returning. “Which is what I will do for you,” she ended in a sugar sweet tone.</p><p> </p><p>“What they needed? What do you mean?” Sam said, trying desperately to diffuse the situation, to distract the witch long enough to somehow gain an advantage. Dean was tense beside him, gun still raised and finger twitching over the trigger.</p><p> </p><p>She turned to Sam with a wide smile, answering his question. “The boy wanted to be different, to have his fantasies realized. The old woman wanted to be adored and beloved once more. The two women wanted their epic story. That strange man wanted his albeit irrational fears to be proven true, and the weatherman simply wanted to escape into a world without worry or betrayal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well we don’t need your kind of help, lady.” Dean spat.</p><p> </p><p>Her frown returned as she faced the older brother again, and she raised one delicate eyebrow. “Honestly? I’m surprised you two confronted me together. This entire case was solved separately. Between you there is mistrust, fear and doubt. Secrets and hidden pains keep you from helping one another. After all, if you’re going to stop the apocalypse, you’ll need to work together. I’ll just help you along the path of understanding.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam watched as she closed her eyes, and he opened his mouth to yell at Dean. With hardly a flick of her fingers his voice went silent, words dissolving before they reached his lips. They were out of time, she was casting her spell. </p><p> </p><p>As they stared in horror and amazement, a strong breeze rustled the previously still trees, blowing loose leaves into a swirling maelstrom around them. </p><p> </p><p>“You have 72 hours boys. Let’s see if you can resolve your differences and solve the <em> real </em> case in this town.” She said with a wink. “I hope you learn something.” She smiled, voice soft but booming over the growing cacophony. With a final wailing gale and a flurry of leaves, the witch was gone, leaving only the empty bench and the ringing of Dean’s gun as he shot into nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Dammit!”</p><p> </p><p>Sam just glared at him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Questions Later, Breakfast Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And so the fun begins.<br/>One powerful spell, two very stressed brothers.<br/>What could go wrong?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fuck!” Dean shouted as he slammed open the door to their motel room. Sam walked in behind him, worn down and weary, trying not to wince at the loud noise and responding shouts from angry guests in the room next door.</p><p> </p><p>Dean threw his duffle to the floor with a wordless yell before resorting to furious pacing between the bathroom and their beds.</p><p> </p><p>He mumbled curses and insults under his breath that Sam couldn’t quite make out, but he got the gist. His brother was absolutely terrified, they both were. Afterall, a witch had promised to ‘help’ them, then disappeared into a gale of wind. Even an ordinary civilian would be a little pessimistic given those circumstances. </p><p> </p><p>Unlike his brother however, Sam channeled his fear into what he did best: research. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting down at their tiny coffee table, Sam opened his laptop and brought up the resources he had collected earlier as well as his custom search engine, trying to compile every scrap of information they had on witches.</p><p> </p><p>He could feel exhaustion creeping up on him after the long and stressful day, but sleep was out of the question. All of their cases had met the witch, gone to bed, then woke up with the spell in place. He knew they’d have to pull an all-nighter, but he wasn’t too worried about it, hunters skipped sleep like it was a 5am Monday class.</p><p> </p><p>Dean seemed to have the same idea. He had stopped pacing and was pulling out all of their protection basics. The can of rock salt, paint markers for sigils, and warding candles. He also tossed two shotguns onto Sam’s bed, a silent signal that meant he wanted them cleaned and loaded. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean, I think we should find out what this witch wants.” Sam began. “I mean she’s not like any other witch we’ve encountered, and what she said about a <em> real </em> case...”</p><p> </p><p>His brother didn’t even meet his eyes as he responded. “No way Sam, we can’t waste time playing supernatural therapist to a monster. She threatened us and we gotta lock down.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam ducked his head. It was probably the best thing they could do, he reasoned with himself as he closed his laptop and got to the task Dean had laid out for him. He desperately wanted to understand the witch and her intentions, but he didn’t want to get in the way of Dean’s single-minded determination. He had already pissed off his brother enough, and there was no room for argument.</p><p> </p><p>They had everything done in half an hour, Sam struggling to get the correct symbols on the walls as his eyelids got heavier and heavier. Now he was standing by the door, shotgun in hand, constantly glancing through the sheer blinds of their motel room. </p><p> </p><p>He was slouched against the wall, every bone in his body slowly turning to molasses. It felt like he hadn’t slept in days or weeks, instead of 24 hours. His head kept jerking up and down like a puppet on a string. </p><p> </p><p>Ever so slowly Sam’s knees buckled beneath him. It was like he was disconnected from his body, watching himself fall asleep in slow motion. A distant part of his brain screamed at him to open his eyes, to take control. Behind him, Dean wasn’t doing much better. The older brother sank into the once scratchy, now cloud soft covers of the bed, shotgun falling to the side with a soundless sigh. </p><p> </p><p>A heavy haze filled up the room like city smog but quieter, seeping in through the ceiling vents and between the door jambs. As both brothers lapsed into unconsciousness, the bathroom window slid open. The witch stepped inside, light feet landing gently on a closed toilet seat before stepping into the main room. From underneath her red sash she pulled out two silk bags, one green woven with golden thread, the other blue with silver linings. She laid one on each of their pillows like a hotel chocolate, and then was gone.</p><p> </p><p>As the Winchester’s fell into the deepest sleep of their lives, the witch’s spell took effect.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>Morning light had never felt better on Dean’s skin. It filtered through the blinds above him in slits of sun, slowly warming him and waking him from his rest. He groaned as he gained awareness of his body, realizing he was on the floor instead of the nice comfy mattress he remembered being on.</p><p> </p><p>His brain was slow to get started, going through one feeling at a time like a rebooted computer. He groaned again, louder, and rolled onto his back, hair falling out of his face. He had a sick feeling in the back of his throat, that gut reaction telling him that he should be in fight or flight mode, but his body was too still, too relaxed. He sighed, unwilling to get up but unable to ignore the growing concerned voice in the back of his mind.</p><p> </p><p><em> Something’s wrong, something’s wrong! </em> It yelled at him, until he had no choice but to leave the comfort of the early sunlight and last remnants of the most peaceful sleep he had experienced in years. </p><p>Rolling again so he was on his side, he pushed himself up with his arms until he was sitting up on his knees. Everything felt heavy and he wanted nothing more than to lay back down, but questions kept sneaking through the fog and poking him behind the eyeballs. <em> Why was he on the floor? Wasn’t he supposed to be awake? Why was he so </em> hungry <em> ? </em> The last one was punctuated with a sharp growl from his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>Finally opening his eyes fully he saw he was on his knees by the door, shotgun laying beside him. <em> He had had a shotgun right </em>? His mind questioned. His vision was blurred and shaky, but he seemed to be in different clothes too. </p><p> </p><p><em> Questions later, breakfast now </em>. His stomach responded with another growl, getting close to a roar. He stood, wobbly on his feet and dizzy from the sudden height. It felt like the floor was a thousand feet below him. Shaking his head to clear it, certain that was just the after-effect of such a deep sleep, he was shocked to find himself slapped in the face by a mess of hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Blegh!” He spluttered, batting it away from his face. Panic returned full force as he remembered the witch’s promise and the fact that he had fallen asleep at the exact wrong time. Stumbling over to the bed, he blinked furiously. If he was going to assess his condition and stop that bitch he needed to <em> see </em>. </p><p> </p><p>What he saw when the sleep finally left his eyes did not make him feel any better. On his bed he saw himself, laying down, legs dangling off the side and shotgun loose by his hand as if he had fallen asleep sitting up. The feeling in the back of his throat grew until he was almost gagging. Instead, he let out a strangled shout.</p><p> </p><p>The person that looked like him jerked awake at his yell, flailing and falling off the bed with a thud. Dean was on him in a second, hand gripping his shirt and fist raised. </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell?!” Not-him said, hands up defensively, eyes terrified. “Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think I should be asking the questions here? Why do you look like me?!”</p><p> </p><p>The stranger’s eyes widened, and seemed to search all of Dean’s body before he responded. “No way, you look like me!”</p><p> </p><p>Dean paused for a moment, considering this, and still feeling the hair that definitely wasn’t his itching the back of his neck. The man that looked like him glanced up towards the bed, and Dean followed his eyes. There, on both of their pillows, clear as day, were two hex bags.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, is that you?” The person below him questioned softly, and Dean looked back at him, a slow but horrible realization working its way through his system.</p><p> </p><p>“Sam?” He loosened his hold as his brother nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit.”</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s hand kept going up to his ear to brush back hair that wasn’t there as he sat on his laptop once more. It had been one of the worst mornings of his life. First, he had woken up to screaming and being threatened by a person who looked exactly like him, then they had found out that despite all of their protections the witch had still gotten to them. And now, they had to spend 72 hours in each other’s bodies unless they could figure out a way to break the spell.</p><p> </p><p>Dean had needed to get whatever he had pent up out of his system, and had gone for a drive while Sam sat dissecting the hex bags. </p><p> </p><p>For the most part they seemed mostly decorative. Each made of finely woven silk and containing nothing but a single, faceless gold coin and a lock of each of their hairs. </p><p> </p><p>Though it made him wonder how she had gotten their hair, it didn’t give him a lot to go on, and his gut feeling told him that whatever magic the witch was using, she was powerful enough to not need simple hex bags. Still, he dug into the lore with fervor, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and out of place in his brother’s body.</p><p> </p><p>He felt restless and fidgety, much more so than usual, and had a peculiar craving for a cold beer. His muscles twitched, itching for some sort of movement that wasn’t typing and he groaned, leaning away from his computer, to press the heels of his hands deep into his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Now he sort of understood why Dean was always so unwilling to sit around and research, it was almost like he had ADHD. He paused. The thought was an intrusive but intriguing one, and he sighed. Though he knew Dean would probably be pissed, he had nothing better to do. He opened a new tab and started typing.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>Dean immediately liked the atmosphere of Mac’s. It was the classic diner, with burgers and cheesesteaks in red checkered wrappers. It wasn’t much of a breakfast place, but the smell was mouth-watering and he was too hungry to care if Sam complained about burgers for breakfast again.</p><p> </p><p>He flashed a grin at the counter lady and she smiled shyly in return. He didn’t have his usual good looks, but Sammy’s would have to suffice.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I get a Mac’s Burger, a scoop of chicken salad and two baskets of fries please?” He asked, laying on the charm as he pulled out the fake credit card.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, will that be all?” She was blushing slightly, Dean went with it.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep, unless you have any suggestions.” He winked and slid the card across the counter, quickly glancing at the name before continuing. “Name’s Denton.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cherise.” She replied, swiping his card and handing it back. “And you already picked the best things.”</p><p> </p><p>She was pretty in the small town way, tan skin and short, wavy brown hair. He wondered idly if the honey highlights were real.</p><p> </p><p>“Well Cherise, maybe I’ll have to come back later and try the rest of the menu. See if everything is as good as you say.”</p><p> </p><p>She giggled, soft and cute, and Dean grinned appreciatively at her form as she walked away.</p><p> </p><p>Besides the obvious issue at hand, Dean was having a pretty good day. There were some snags, like having to adjust the driver’s seat to accommodate Sam’s stupidly long spider legs, the fact that hair kept getting in his face, and the mind-consuming hunger, but most things had easy fixes. It almost made him wonder why Sam was so moody all the time, he felt better than he had in months.</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed the greasy take-out bag when it was ready, and gave a genuine smile to Cherise as he left. Maybe after all this was over Sammy would have a date, if he hadn’t been put off hook-ups forever. </p><p> </p><p>Climbing back into the car, he headed towards the motel. When he arrived, Sam was still sitting at the computer, typing away. He looked up almost guiltily when Dean came in.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s up?” He said, partially closing the screen. Dean rolled his eyes and ignored it.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing much, just brought breakfast. Been starving all morning. Probably because you don’t eat enough.” He pulled his burger and fries out of the bag and went over to his bed, anxious to eat something. “I still can’t believe they didn’t have pie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Burgers and pie for breakfast Dean? You’re gonna have a heart attack before you’re forty. Or I am, since you’re in my body”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, that’s if we make it to forty. Don’t be an ass Sam, I got you your rabbit meal, so my body can be healthy for once and yours can experience real food. She said 72 hours right? I doubt years of being a health freak will be ruined by a burger and a few slices of pie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Since when is it just a few slices with you?” Sam said, pulling out the plastic container of salad and his own thing of fries, frowning at them like they owed him money. He finally got up from the computer table and sat on his own bed. They didn’t really care about getting food on the beds since they had already painted sigils on the walls and poured salt on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Dean ignored Sam’s little dig at his appetite, instead focusing on the taste of his burger. It was a little rarer than he normally liked, but it hit the spot perfectly. He moaned and took another bite before he had even swallowed the last one.</p><p> </p><p>“Should I leave the room?” Sam quipped, raising an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“Yesh pluese” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t talk with your mouth full, that’s disgusting.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean swallowed and grinned. “Okay Mom.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam threw a pillow at his head and Dean had to jump off the bed to dodge it. He landed just behind where Sam had been sitting, and saw the partially obscured searches that Sam had been so guilty about. He stood straight and looked his brother dead in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Why were you googling ADHD and PTSD?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam looked down at his salad, jokes forgotten, but still keeping his tone light as he responded.</p><p> </p><p>“No reason.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sammy,” Dean crossed his arms. “Remember what the witch said? That she was gonna help us along the path of understanding. Now, does keeping secrets sound like a path of understanding to you?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam glared at him. He hated being talked down to like a little kid, and Dean knew it.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, if you’re so interested.” He spat. “I was looking it up because I was concerned about you okay? I know you always say you’re fine and you don’t want me to ask any questions but it’s a little different when I’m the one feeling that shit. You lied to me about how you were, so yeah, I was googling stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>He regretted how much anger he spoke with as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. It felt like everything was suspicious nowadays and it was starting to get on his nerves, especially when he now knew Dean had been lying to him about his mental state.</p><p> </p><p>But Dean just glared right back. “Oh yeah, and you’re the one to judge me for lying Sam? At least my lies were to make you feel better. So what if I get anxious? I went to Hell, I have a right, but you don’t <em> need </em> to know about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, come on man, you know I didn’t…”</p><p> </p><p>However Sam was interrupted by the police scanner he had left turned on next to his bag. A loud blur of static and chatter of radios broke both boy’s focus on the argument.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This is Trompeter, I have an 11-44 on East College, I repeat an 11-44 on East College. Send in Spanbroek with the coroner, we’re gonna need to tape this off.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “10-4, they’re on their way.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“A body?” Dean asked, face a mask of confusion. “I thought this bitch wasn’t killing anybody?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Sam said, glad for once that they weren’t talking things out. The fight was one they’d had too many times. “Let’s check it out.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean nodded and threw Sam his bag.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, East College road was just down the street from their motel. They made it before the police cut off the traffic, when there were only one or two cruisers in the driveway of the house just beyond the church. It was a long and low ranch style, with a truck parked sideways in the grass. The red and blue of the police lights danced and shined across the darkened windows.</p><p> </p><p>Sam and Dean got out of the car, already in their suits. They approached the officer who was leaning against his car, radio in hand and a solemn expression on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You the one that called this in?” Sam asked, wincing at the voice that wasn’t his. He startled the officer out of his own reverie, the man had been staring at the house, but jumped and put a hand to his heart when Sam spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus! I didn’t hear you two come up.” He nodded at Dean, who seemed to be even more uncomfortable than Sam, constantly flicking hair out of his face. “Agent Savage. I’d say it’s good to see you again but…”</p><p> </p><p>Dean just smiled and nodded. He’d forgotten that Sam was the one who had gone to the station the previous day, of course the officer would remember him, but Dean didn’t have a clue. Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear just as he was about to make a fool of himself.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s Deputy Trompeter, he’s responded to most of the cases out here.” Dean shot his brother a grudgingly grateful look before turning back to the policeman.</p><p> </p><p>“Deputy, long time no see.” Dean oozed, and Sam rolled his eyes. “This is my partner, Agent Allen. What can you tell us about the vic?”</p><p> </p><p>The Deputy sighed and gestured to the house. “Follow me and I’ll show ya.” They walked up the driveway to the front door, Trompeter waving at the officer that was winding police tape around the nearest tree.</p><p> </p><p>“In here agents.” He said, opening the door and revealing a gruesome scene. There was an old woman’s body sprawled in the center of the living room, chest ripped open and heart  laying next to her, a web of stretched and broken veins connecting the organ to the body. There was a deep red pool of blood reaching from the couch to the tv stand, and splatters seemed to dot every surface. </p><p> </p><p>“Vic’s name was Madaline Whitlock, 63 years old. Lived here alone, hasn’t had any visitors ‘cept her cousin from Georgia that came to visit ‘bout a week or so back.” He had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head as he turned to them.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen agents, Maddie was a good friend, to a lot of us. She brought chicken pot pie to Sunday Potlucks.” He sighed deeply before continuing. “I have no idea who, or what, could do something like this.” He looked Dean in the eye, “Hopefully the FBI getting involved means we’ll get some answers. You think this has to do with any of the... <em> other </em> stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m pretty sure, yeah.” Dean said.</p><p> </p><p>“Well actually we’re not 100% yet, Deputy.” Sam interrupted, nudging Dean’s foot to tell him to shut his mouth. “We still have to see if there’s any real connection. In the meantime, if we could have the scene for a minute?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, just try not to move anything. We’re still waiting for the coroner and the evidence guys to get here. I can go get you some gloves.”</p><p> </p><p>“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>The deputy nodded and looked back at the body again before leaving, shaking slightly. When he was gone Dean punched Sam on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell, man? What’d you mean we’re not 100%? There’s a witch in this town and not only have we seen her with our own eyes, we’ve been freaking freaky friday-ed by her!”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean,” he said, rubbing the now sore spot on his shoulder. “You heard as well as me what she said. Yeah she admitted to those other cases and laid some serious hoodoo on us, but she was trying to help people. Something tells me she wouldn’t just start killing people, not like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know Sam, maybe this woman was <em> really </em> sad and <em> needed </em> to die a horrible death for attention or something.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam just scowled and Dean scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, but if I find a hex bag in here you’re buying dinner and gas for a month.”</p><p> </p><p>They started looking around for anything that indicated supernatural presence, Sam pulling out Dean’s EMF meter. As soon as he turned it on, the needle jumped into the red and a high-pitched whine filled the room. No matter where he walked, the needle stayed quivering at the far end of the display.</p><p> </p><p>“Power lines?” Dean suggested. Sam just shook his head. The meter’s squeal died down as he left the room, but ramped back up when he walked in. He shut it off and put it away, giving his brother a smug look as Dean set down the pillow he had been searching under.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop that, I don’t want my own face looking at me like that. Makes me feel weird.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever do you mean?” Sam smirked, batting his eyes in mock innocence.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean your stupid ‘ha I was right and you’re an idiot’ look. If you’re gonna be in my body you better at least act like me a little bit.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam just grinned wider. “You’re right Dean.” He straightened his tie. “You know what? I’m gonna go out there and ask the nice deputy if he wants to get dinner with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll kill you before you get the chance,” Dean growled.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d only be hurting yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jerk.”</p><p> </p><p>They both laughed, argument from earlier all but forgotten as they fell into the familiar and comforting routine. Dean smiled, watching his brother. The sight of what looked like himself bent over with tears in his eyes was one that had been nearly forgotten. It had been way too long since they’d laughed like this. It might have been a bit inappropriate seeing as they were standing in a crime scene over a corpse, but a hunter took whatever nuggets of happiness they got.</p><p> </p><p>“So, ghost then?” Dean asked as the laughter faded away.</p><p> </p><p>“That’d be my guess.” Sam looked at Dean and raised one eyebrow. “Maybe this is the other case that the witch was talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great, another case. Like our plates weren’t already spilling over the sides.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam shrugged. “Well we can let them clean up here and then stop by the medical examiner’s office after the autopsy, examine the body then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep,” Dean said, wiping his hands on his pants. “We’ve probably found all we’re going to here. Might as well get back and do some research. Take the day to dig into the house and Maddie over there, see if anything screams haunted.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> You </em> wanna do research?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean realized what Sam was saying and rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up. Just because I’m currently in your body doesn’t mean I’m going to be your little research slave. I was just saying that’s probably our best option right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you say Dean.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean punched him in the shoulder again as they left the house, aiming lower so he didn’t hit the spot that was already sore.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, How in the HELL do you keep this shit out of your damn face, Sam?!” Dean yelled, tugging the annoyingly long hair out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.</p><p> </p><p>Sam sighed and didn’t look up from his typing. “Just tuck it behind your ears.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean groaned, shutting his own computer with a snap. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, you literally just ate.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not my fault you don’t eat properly,” Dean whined, the strange empty feeling of his stomach making him grumpy. Sam stiffened in his chair, but Dean didn’t notice. </p><p> </p><p>“At least tell me you’ve found <em> something </em> nerd boy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually,” Sam said, turning his computer around so his brother could read the screen, “I did find something on the house.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean got up and walked closer, kneeling to get a better look at the article as Sam began to read aloud.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Turns out Maddy was the first person to live there for a while. There was a mystery of sorts around the property in the 70s. The town’s preacher at the time was called Father Robbins, who lived in the house just next to the church.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maddie’s place,” Dean added, and Sam nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Father Robbins was a pillar of the community until 1976, when he was named as one of the suspects in the disappearance of Isaac Turner, the altar boy, who was twelve at the time. Though Isaac’s case remains unsolved, the file was declared cold, and closed in 1980. No suspects were ever arrested or questioned, but the Father claimed innocence until his death in 1994. Some think the boy simply ran away, others think he was kidnapped or murdered. However those theories have been routinely denied by the Black Mountain police, since those types of crime weren’t common at the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well,” Dean said as Sam finished, “Just because it wasn’t common doesn't mean it wasn’t possible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agreed,” Sam said, saving the article and switching over to the police site. “That, and Isaac was just the first in a list of disappearances that have come from this town, usually children under thirteen, no more than one a year till now, a total of 15 kids since then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what? We thinking the good Father is into some pervy crap? And his ghost is up to the same schtick?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. I’m gonna see if I can get that case file online. The medical examiner called by the way, when you were out getting enough food to feed a small household. Said that the autopsy is finished and his report is ready, so I guess he wasn’t that busy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Thank God, something to do besides sit here and watch you being an egghead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually I was going to go back, search the house and maybe the church as well. See if I can find anything on a century old mystery.” He sighed and pushed his chair away from the table, rubbing mindlessly at the stubble that covered his, Dean’s face. “Hopefully working on this case means we’ll solve our other pressing issue as well, seeing as I can’t find anything about a counterspell for this.” He said, gesturing to his body.</p><p> </p><p>“What, not having fun being me Sammy?” Dean asked.</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s mouth narrowed into a firm line. “The fact that I’m finding it so difficult to sit down and do my job because of your messed up psyche is bothering me, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam interrupted him before he could say anything snarky.</p><p> </p><p>“And we are absolutely talking about this when this whole thing is over, okay Dean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah whatever. As long as we also get to talk about cutting this ridiculous hair.” His small smile helped relieve the tension slightly as Sam swatted his arm, simultaneously berating him and urging him out the door.</p><p> </p><p>“You have my sincere promise that if you do anything to my hair, you won’t be happy with the body you come back to.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Dean shouted, half through the doorway, keys in hand. His brother’s response was a dark chuckle and a wink. Scoffing, Dean closed the door behind him and got in the car. </p><p> </p><p>“Dead body here I come,” He muttered to himself as his baby roared to life, turning the dial so his music filled the space and spilled out the open windows, blessing the town of Black Mountain with the sweet cadences of <em> Fortunate Son </em>.</p><p> </p><p>---------------------</p><p> </p><p>The office of the Black Mountain medical examiner was small, tucked into the back of the police station. Dr. Schnyder was stiff but welcoming nonetheless when Dean knocked on the frosted glass door.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Agent Savage?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep. You called my partner a little over three hours ago right? About the autopsy and report?”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed,” the doctor said, turning on his heel and leading Dean into what he assumed was the morgue. “Brian told me you guys were thinking this had something to do with all of the other things going on around here.”</p><p> </p><p>“We are,” Dean replied as Dr. Schnyder rolled out the body, delicately covered with a pure white sheet.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” was all he said as Dean pulled the sheet back. The woman’s face looked like a half melted wax figure, wrinkled skin paling and stiffening in death. Most of the blood that had stained her torso had been cleaned away, and the ragged hole in her chest had been stitched up as neatly as possible. Dr. Schnyder handed him a clipboard with a small packet of papers.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s the report, nasty business.” He said, walking over to a tall industrial fridge and pulling the door open. A misty blast of frigid air sprang into the room and Dean did his best to hold back a shiver. The doctor continued talking as he set a tupperware container on the metal table next to the body.</p><p> </p><p>“I took out the heart completely. There were just a few tendons holding it in there anyway. It says as much for you there, but I believe the cause of death wasn’t the heart being ripped out. That seemed to be post-mortem.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Dean asked, letting the doctor move around him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, in fact I’m almost completely certain she froze to death.” He said, putting away instruments that had been lying around. “Acute hypothermia. Whole system shut down, the heart had been deprived of blood flow for some time before it was removed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s certainly weird,” Dean said, pulling the sheet back over the woman’s face. He swallowed thickly, his stomach not quite growling but empty all the same. The doctor nodded at him, still cleaning. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s all I got. If you don’t mind though,” He handed Dean a small vial filled with thick red blood. “If you could take this to the tox lab? I’m going to run a screening but I need to finish cleaning up here.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean shrugged, but as the smell hit him it took all his effort not to drop the vial. The half congealed blood had a scent like melted copper mixed with lemon juice, and for some reason it made the empty space in his stomach coil and growl. Dean swallowed back stinging bile as the doctor gestured to the papers in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a copy by the way, Agent Savage, so you can take it with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean nodded and tried to return the doctor’s grave smile. His stomach flipped and rolled, and he almost wanted to puke. The nausea hit him like a hammer, extreme and unexpected. He put his hand over his chest and cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks Doc, we’ll keep in touch. Let you know if we figure anything out.” He was already backing out of the door.</p><p> </p><p>“You do that.” Dr. Schnyder replied, waving goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>As Dean left the room he slouched against the cold wall, head spinning and unable to walk properly. He held the vial as far away from himself as possible, gagging. He turned his head in the other direction, breathing in deep, ragged breaths. It took him a moment to clear his head and regain his strength to stand. The scent was still strong though, and as he breathed through his mouth he could almost taste it.</p><p> </p><p>He nearly threw the vial at the officer standing at the doorway to the tox lab, needing to get out of there, back to the motel room. The empty feeling that had been eating him all day spread like ravenous wildfire from his stomach to the rest of his body, making his mouth salivate and his heart beat frantically.</p><p> </p><p>He cursed and spit as he swerved onto the road.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here we are againnn<br/>Yes I am addicted to cliff-hangers. I am not sorry. Suffer.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sleep Sucks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Confrontation? Yes. Nightmares? Absolutely. Hotel? Trivago.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, yes I did make the summary a meme and yes I did include my own voicemail fix-it. You can't control me :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sam slapped his flashlight against his palm as the beam flickered once again, the chilled air of the old woman’s basement making the tips of his fingers go numb.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t quite know what he was looking for, just that it was probably in the basement. A quick call to the cousin that had visited Madaline a week prior had told him that she was planing renovations. Knocking down walls, putting in new flooring. It had seemed like no coincidence that she had been killed as soon as the construction got under way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Half of the floor had already been removed in the back corner of the basement, revealing dark and tousled soil. He had a feeling that whatever ghost had been released had it’s remains here, but he didn’t have the equipment necessary to look at the moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Besides</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought to himself, finally turning the flashlight off in annoyance, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sun’s starting to set. Dean’s probably wondering where I am</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shut and deadbolted the basement door as he left, the tingling of hairs on the back of his neck making him eager to leave. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Usually they would come back that night to take care of the situation, but it had been an extraordinary long and tiresome day. Sam especially felt dead on his feet, and hoped that wasn’t an aftereffect of whatever the witch used to get them to sleep in the first place. Too much of their job had to be done at night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Sam crawled back out of the kitchen window he had used to get in the locked down house, conveniently placed facing the back yard so he wasn’t seen by any authorities still hanging around the crime scene. He began the walk back to the motel with a bit more spring in his step. Tomorrow they would finish their research, find whatever bones or remains had been disturbed, salt and burn them, then hopefully return to normal by proving to the witch that they understood each other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Although there were some things Sam was incredibly glad were gone, he couldn’t shake the paranoia that kept creeping up his spine when he began to relax, nor the horrible faces that seemed to leer at him from the shadows, or even the screams that echoed distantly in the back of his mind. Logically, he knew what it must be. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hell. The one thing Dean had opened up to him about, what felt like years ago. Forty years, Dean had said. Thirty being tortured and ten as the torturer. Although Sam wanted to listen, wanted his brother to be alright, he knew deep down that it wasn’t something a person could bounce back from, not fully. And feeling that fear, the constant aching guilt that pressed down on his soul… he had stopped blaming his brother for his more erratic behavior. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took less than twenty minutes to make it back to the motel, Sam humming tunelessly as he walked along the darkening streets of the small town. The Impala was parked in the lot and the sink water was running in the bathroom when he returned, the door closed. All the lights were off except for the one in the bathroom, leaving the small sliver of light from under the door to illuminate the entire room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam turned on a lamp and fell back onto the bed, waiting for his brother to finish so they could go over the information they had learned that day. He heard the water shut off and the door open, and waited for Dean to acknowledge his presence. Instead he heard his brother groan and collapse onto his own bed. Sam opened his eyes and turned over to see Dean’s face buried in a pillow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing you didn’t have a very good day then.” Sam pointed out, worried both for his brother and the body he was currently inhabiting. “What, did Dr. Schnyder say you were ugly or something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean moaned some unintelligible response into the pillow, his hands moving under it to press it farther into his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, didn’t hear that. You’ll have to get your face out of the pillow, man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean rolled over onto his back so he was facing the ceiling. He wouldn’t look at Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Blood.” Was all he said, his voice a monotonous ripple in the ocean of silence between them. Sam paled and sat up, gripping the sheets for comfort. Dean hadn’t, he wouldn’t…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Demon?” He asked just as quietly. Dean shook his head at the ceiling, and Sam blew out a breath between his teeth. He hadn’t expected something like this. He had almost forgotten how his body reacted to blood now, even human blood. After all, it smelled the same. Though ever since River Pass, the few times he encountered it, he had been ready and able to temper his reaction so Dean wasn’t worried. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean hadn’t known what it did to him, the hunger, the emptiness, the lust for power. The angels had been right when they said consuming the amount it would take to kill Lilith would change him. Though God or Lucifer or whoever had put them on that plane had saved him from the horrors of withdrawal, it didn’t mean he wanted it any less. The smell still haunted him, the woman’s screams turning to soundless gurgling as Ruby pulled her from the trunk and slit her throat. He shut his eyes again, the lamp suddenly seemed too bright and he understood why Dean had left the lights off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t…” He had to clear his throat, but his heart was crawling up it. “You, uh, didn’t drink any?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean turned to him, brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked up at Sam as if he had never seen him before in his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nodded, eyes still shut. One by one he tried to relax his muscles, tried to forget the situation he was in and go to his happy place. If that was even a real thing. Outside in reality, he heard Dean get up, and felt the weight of his body as he sat next to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam wanted to ignore him, to stay in the darkness of his mind and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go to sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Dean wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to turn the metaphorical tables on his brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sammy, talk to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes, and he could’ve laughed at the worried expression he had seen so many times in the mirror, always directed at Dean, now begging him for information.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Using my own puppy eyes against me Dean? That’s low.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s responding smile was sad. “Just wanted to see if it worked little brother.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam sighed, staring at his hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before Dean. I am, really. But if you had known… I don’t even know what you’d’ve done.” He could feel the hard, rhythmic thumping of his heart against his ribs, the way his throat closed and the corners of his eyes itched. “I’ve just been so scared…” he said, and his voice was a broken whisper. “Ruby, Lilith, Lucifer, the blood,” His eyes flicked back up to Dean’s, his face. “Your voicemail. Please understand that I couldn’t tell you after that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His expression wasn’t one of rage like Sam had expected, or even disappointment. Dean was confused of all things.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Voicemail?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam pulled out his phone in silence, opening it up and scrolling back to the message he had saved when he was at his lowest, his darkest moment. He pressed play and hugged his torso with one arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen to me you blood-sucking freak, Dad always said I’d either have to save you, or kill you. Well I’m giving you fair warning, I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster Sam. A vampire. You’re not you anymore, and there’s no going back.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The message ended with a small, happy beep that sounded like a gong in the tense quiet. Outside, a car passed, headlights flashing across the closed blinds and passing over their still bodies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not…” Now Dean was crying, his fist curling and stretching into the bed, his teeth grinding against each other. Sam flinched when he threw his arms out, hands latched onto his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I said Sam!” He yelled, his whole body trembling. “I couldn’t, I would never, how could you think…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Sam wasn’t looking at him, tears making shimmering tracks on his cheeks. Dean released his grip on his shoulders, and pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not a monster Sam.” He whispered into his hair. They smelled like sweat and dirt and blood, but as they sat just being there for eachother in the dark motel room, the world felt a little better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean had never been more ready for sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t often that he and Sam talked, like really talked. He had no idea what his brother had really been going through, what he thought of Dean, what he thought of himself. In truth, it broke his heart. He hadn’t sent that message, but he couldn’t deny he had had similar thoughts. When Sam had drank that demon in front of him, he wanted to lock him away, and he did. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam was trying, Sam thought he was a monster. He killed Lilith because he had lost Dean. In more ways than one Dean could blame himself for the apocalypse. But he had blamed his brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, he put away his toothbrush. Sam had already gone to sleep, aided by pills he had snuck into their first aid kit the last time they visited a hospital. But Dean was still awake. He was used to it nowadays, Hell lurking in his psyche every time he closed his eyes for a second. However, tonight would be different he promised himself. He was in Sam’s body now, and his brother had never been to Hell.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shut off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest along with his even breathing lulling Dean into sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t anything like his own dreams. He opened his eyes to see the same motel room he had fallen asleep in, a little darker, a little blurrier, the haze of sleep a filter over reality. He sat up and realized he was in his own body again, but he had a horrible, creeping feeling that he was being watched.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around the room, he spotted the cause of his discomfort. There was a figure shrouded in darkness in the corner of the room, between the door and the tv stand. Though Dean couldn’t make out his features exactly, he seemed to be a man of ordinary build and stature, hardly an intimidating sight. But knowing he was staring at him, he wanted to jump right out of his skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You aren’t Sam.” It wasn’t a question, merely a mildly intrigued statement. The man’s voice wasn’t deep or particularly high, just as normal as the rest of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dean said, hoping he could figure out who this was and what he was doing in his brother’s dreams.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man stepped forward then, and a disembodied light revealed his features in stark contrast to the deep shadows behind him. He looked like the kind of man you’d see at his kid’s soccer game, or working late in an office cubicle. He was dressed simply in a white tee-shirt and jeans, and dirty blond stubble dotted his chin under a chilling smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised Dean,” the man said, pouting. “I know Sam’s the smart one but I was told you were just as capable in most respects. You’d have to be, in order to be suitable for my brother of course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean drew in a sharp breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucifer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Satan smiled wider, shrugging his shoulders as if he had been recognized for an outstanding sales quarter rather than as the original fallen angel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The boy has brains after all.” He walked closer, and Dean scooted backwards as far as he could go until his back was pressed firmly against the wall. Lucifer tilted his head to the side like an inquisitive bird, and it reminded Dean so much of Cas that he wanted to scream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What could have possibly happened to bring me to you instead I wonder? I am connected to my true vessel’s body and soul, not yours, so there must be something…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean didn’t want to talk to Lucifer, but he didn’t want him to get any closer either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a witch. She swapped me and Sam’s bodies.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Satan saw Dean’s flinch when he sat on the end of the bed, he didn’t show it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How interesting,” He said, speaking not to him directly but rather at the cheap motel painting above his head. “She must’ve been quite powerful for this to be possible.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His dark and almost glowing eyes met Dean’s, and the oldest Winchester tried to make himself as small as possible. No matter how many times he had promised to gank the Devil, it was different being face to face with him. Though his image was unassuming, he radiated power, hate and jealousy. It was similar to when he fought with Sam, the same outward facing calm concealing seething anger his brother always seemed to have.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean ground his teeth and said nothing, glaring as he realized that the Devil was in his head, and therefore could read his mind. Lucifer just chuckled softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are right to compare me to your brother. We are alike in many ways.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam is nothing like you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” He said, raising one eyebrow without any real interest. “Scorned brothers, abandoned by our Father, misunderstood by the world.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not misunderstood, you’re evil.” Dean hissed, straightening his back and looking the Devil in the eye. Though his skin was crawling with fear, he would stand up to anything if it meant defending his brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And haven’t you said the same thing about your own brother?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean opened his mouth to speak, but with a twitch of his finger Lucifer silenced him. Dean closed his now useless mouth and tried to kill the Devil with his eyes alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lucifer stood, smiling at Dean’s poor attempt at intimidation before turning his back on him and walking towards the shadows he had come from.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know better than to try an convince you Dean. Afterall, as much as Sam is like me, so you are similar to Michael. He never believed me either.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He faced Dean one last time, the shadows around him growing darker as they crawled along the floor and walls, eating up the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He will say yes to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean tried again to yell, to tell him to fuck off and leave his brother alone, but Lucifer had already dissapated into darkness. He put his head in his hands and silently cried, waiting for the shadows to swallow him completely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The drugs helped for about an hour or so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam took the highest dose that was safe and slid under the covers of his tiny motel bed as soon as they had broken their embrace. It had shaken them both, the double realization and sudden forgiveness of sins. On top of everything that was going on with the witch - as well the separate ghost case - Sam didn’t think he’d have to handle facing his own addiction or listening to the voicemail again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he said goodnight to Dean, took his pills, and tried his best to sleep peacefully. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At first he was stuck in some sort of consciousness limbo. A dim grey space in his mind where he was vaguely aware of what was going on around him, but all he saw were ephemeral silhouettes, barely formed subconscious demons. It supposed it was the effect of the medication, but as he sank deeper into sleep, the mist surrounding him became tumultuous, writhing and alive. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wet, bodiless arms reached out of the nothing, brushing twisted hands along his arms and chest, staining him red. Then came the darkness. Like reverse lightning the grey was shot through with blinding black, the deepness of it immeasurable. It was soundless as he descended, but his environment continued to grow and warp and darken. The screams came out of nowhere, the thunder to Hell’s dark lightning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t sound like any human scream he had ever heard, throats and vocal cords torn apart long ago. It was the souls, weeping, ripping, burning. The sound of it cut through his ears and went straight to his brain like a wraith’s nail, piercing him until he was screaming too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then came the smell. At first all he could smell was the blood, his brain craving it even outside his body, but then he noticed the other, subtler scents. It was like someone had created logs of sulfur and brimstone to burn in a giant firepit, the fumes from their destruction fuel for even more flame.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could see now, beyond the dancing, shapeless forms that had plagued him earlier. Around him were flashing, rusted blades and dripping tables, mouthless grins and firelit black eyes. There was a knife in his hand, in Dean’s calloused hand. It was curved, wicked, a sliver of red metal that twisted beyond his fingers. It wasn’t a blade meant for carving skin or sinew on an earthly plane, rather it was made for the imagined bodies of dammed souls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a soul in front of him. In front of Dean. Mangled and mutated, her face was nothing but weeping eyes and a horror-struck mouth. There was a presence in his ear, shifting and smiling and whispering sweet nothings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right there, under the eye. Start with just the tip, there you go. Drag it down… lightly now. If you go too deep she won’t be able to feel what comes later.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He did what it said, and the shrieking of her soul rattled the very air around them, if it was air. It could’ve just been smoke, evaporated blood, his own soul. He didn’t know anymore. But with every slice he felt a piece of it shift inside him. He wondered what becoming a demon felt like, if it was pleasant, like being human on Earth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He drove the thoughts away and focused on the soul, the knife, his own bloodied hands in their relentless pursuit. Somewhere beyond her screams and the demon’s whispers and the horrible shattering, quaking that was Hell, he knew he was screaming to, because this was his torture. His punishment. And he was enjoying it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If there were birds happily chirping outside the next morning, neither Sam or Dean payed them much attention. Both awoke in a cold sweat with a tremor running through them, exchanging looks filled with so much emotion that neither could quite express in words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man. Sleep sucks.” Was the best that Dean was able to muster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The smile Sam gave in response was wry, but genuine nonetheless. He threw off the sweat soaked sheets and rolled to the side, bringing his hand up to block offending rays of sun. They were both out of bed and dressed in under half an hour, and luckily the motel, cheap as it was, had a working coffee maker. It didn’t matter that it didn’t come with any cream or sugar, they both took it black anyways. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They sat at either end of the small table, siping silently, both too tired and drained to make much conversation. It is one of the many miracles of coffee that the steam alone under one’s nose is able to awaken the senses and prepare one for the day, or in this case, for a simple heart-to-heart.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean.” Sam began, his brother looking up at him from behind the rim of his mug. “Are you alright?” He asked, sick of pretending he didn’t see the shadows under his eyes being even worse than they were the day before. Of course those were his own eyes, his own shadows and he knew them well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean just chuckled darkly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I’m not really used to dreams being a social affair,” He tried to joke, the humor falling flat. Sam sighed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it…” He cleared his throat. “Lucifer?” Dean nodded and Sam took a long drink of his coffee, trying to replace one bitter taste in his mouth with another.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’d he tell you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean scoffed. “Oh, you know, the regular angel spiel. We’ll say yes, it’s our destiny, yadda yadda.” He smiled and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, he didn’t say anything about your weird doll collection.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam slapped the hand away, his grin hesitant but uncontrollable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe.” He sighed, looking Sam dead in the eyes as he brought up his own serious topic. “What about you? If I was seeing Satan you probably didn’t have the best night. Did the pills help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For a little bit, yeah. Dean was that… a memory?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Most likely. It’s usually the same scene every night, I doubt you’d get a break from my crap if I didn’t get a break from yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry man, that’s horrible. Really.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean raised an eyebrow, and set his coffee down. “Well, it’s not like I don’t deserve it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Sam’s voice was light, careful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what I mean Sam.” He said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, you can’t possibly think that you deserve this!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t I? I tortured countless souls in Hell, I broke in thirty years when Dad lasted a century, and, oh yeah, I broke the first seal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I broke the last one.” Sam said, and Dean looked down at his hands, anger dissipating and replaced with crushing guilt as his brother continued. “Neither of us knew. We were both manipulated ten ways from Sunday Dean. You went to Hell for me, if anyone should be to blame it’s me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No way Sam!” He shouted, “If that asshole Jake had never stabbed you in the goddamn back I would’ve never had had to make a deal!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Sam said, a glint in his eye now as he got onto a roll. “And he wouldn't have stabbed me if I had killed him when I got the chance, but of course neither of us would’ve been in that situation in the first place if it hadn’t been for the yellow-eyed demon.” His voice dropped lower, his words only for Dean. “You can play the blame game all you want, but in the end it always comes back to them. Yellow-eyes, Lilith, the angels, Michael and Lucifer. It was their plan all along, and we fell into it because we didn’t know any better. You didn’t deserve to go to Hell Dean, and you don’t deserve what you’re going through now. You’re not a monster.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean huffed and picked his coffee back up, eyes wet and mouth curved into a smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn kid, that was my line.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I guess it works both ways, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess.” Dean sighed and glanced towards their window. The sun had risen beyond the line of trees, and looking at his watch he confirmed it was a little past noon. Both of them had slept in apparently, and the coffee and convo had taken up a good portion of the morning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then,” he said as he stood up, groaning and stretching his arms to the ceiling in a huge yawn. He grunted as he cracked his knuckles. “Enough of the chick-flick moments. I think we’ve had our share for the month. Please tell me you got something new on either the ghost or witch front. Preferably the witch because I will not be looking forward to seeing the Devil in my dreams again, or almost passing out because of blood, or having to tuck this stupid ass hair behind your stupidly big ears.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ll be looking forward to being able to sit still for more than an hour.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah shut up. You know it makes me great at hunting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And terrible at research. You know how long it took me to find as much information as I did?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh so you did find something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” He gestured for Dean to come look over his shoulder as he opened his laptop which had been charging on the table. “Yesterday while you were examining the body I was able to look into both the preacher and the house. Called Maggie’s cousin and turns out she was renovating the basement, pulled up half her floor before she was killed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So disturbed remains?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. But it might not be the altar boy, or the Father”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? What makes you say that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiled, he was incredibly proud of this part. He pulled up three articles and an obituary, highlighting the important sections for Dean to see. “Alright look, so when the Father was still in his prime, he had a daughter, India.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a weird name. But wait, she wasn’t mentioned in that other article, did she die or something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See that’s the odd thing. There’s no obituary for her, but right around the time of little Isaac Turner, she disappeared too. No obituary, no missing persons, it’s like she dropped off the face of the Earth. She was super involved in the community and then, nothing. Except,” he said, pulling up a tiny snippet from a newspaper from that year. “Here. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>The community bake-off missed the triple fudge brownies of Ms. India Robbins this year, however her friends in Black Mountain hope that they are enjoyed in Rochester where she now lives with her mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So she went to live with her mom in New York? That’s hardly suspect Sammy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’d think that, sure. But I pulled up the Rochester obits and found a ‘Suzy Berkowitz’, previously Robbins, who was divorced with one daughter. But she never got custody. She lived alone in Rochester until her death, she never even saw India after the divorce.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. Father Robbins never talks about his daughter, she’s not with her mother, and she’s never seen again. At the same time as Isaac.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got all this in one day?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You spent a lot of time eating and examining bodies yesterday, I was here. Well, here and at the house. If I’d had a working flashlight I could probably tell you right now whether or not somethings down there for sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’s a damn good start.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, I think we should go back to the house before sundown though. See what we can find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I feel you there. But first, food.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam massaged his temples, too exhausted to even roll his eyes anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, your body’s not gonna die from a few extra burgers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how do you know?” Sam said increduously, looking up at his brother’s stupid grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because all you ate as a kid were Spaghetti-Os, Lucky Charms, Chinese take-out and marshmallow fluff. If you haven’t died from a sugar or sodium overdose yet I doubt you will now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are an absolute idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Takes one to know one. Come on, It’s time we had a good drive. You should see this Mac’s place, real nice atmosphere and pretty waitresses. In fact, I’m pretty sure Cherise the counter girl already has a crush on you.” He winked as Sam stood and grabbed his jacket.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’ve been flirting with girls while in my body.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone has to little brother, at this rate you’ll be single forever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shook his head and took the keys from the table, dangling them over Dean’s open palm. “Don’t you think we have more important issues at hand? A ghost, a witch and the apocalypse kind of trumps my love life priority wise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who says we can’t solve problems </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a little fun on the side?” Dean snatched the keys and grinned, opening the door. “After you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They walked out to the car and got in, both smiling and feeling like a part of their darkness had been scrubbed cleaned from their souls.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No cliffhanger?? I might be becoming a better person... sike.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Here ghost-y ghost-y</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>phantoms, pain, plot-twists? I like to shake things up babyy</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They unanimously decided to eat in for once, feeling more relaxed than they had in a while. They also both got burgers, Dean ribbing Sam for his hypocrisy while Sam neatly picked off the onion slices. Their table was full with fries and onion rings, Dean also getting himself two chili dogs as Sam looked on with horror. Cherise ended up being their waitress, flipping her honey highlighted hair and winking at Dean everytime he ordered more food. They left full and satisfied and red in the face. Sam red from blushing after Cherise complimented him to Dean, and Dean red from laughing hysterically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, come on! The look on your face…” He burst into another fit of giggles as they got back into the car, his hands fumbling with the keys since his vision was blurred with tears. “Oh Denton,” He imitated in a high pitched voice, “you’re so big and strong, you have such expressive eyes…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Sam grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat. “She didn’t even say that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She was saying it with her eyes Sammy.” Dean chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows at his little brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you know that I hate you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I hope you know that she gave me her number, so I guess if we get this whole situation back to normal you’ll have a lovely opportunity for…” Sam interrupted him with a slap to the back of his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just friggin’ drive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yikes, OK Sam,” Dean said as he turned the engine over, still laughing quietly. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road, heading back to the site of the original crime. They had salt, accelerant, shotguns, shovels and working flashlights in the trunk, and they were ready to finish the job.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky was just beginning to leak the oranges and reds of early sunset when they pulled up to the house, the lawn cleared of police cars but the door still taped shut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam led Dean to the window he had used before, and they climbed in one by one until they were standing in the kitchen. Even from there, both brothers could feel a frigid breeze blowing from under the door to the basement, and they exchanged a look, Dean cocking the shotgun in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In silent synchronization they opened the door and crept down the stairs, the air so cold it left the walls slicked and shining with a fine layer of ice and their breath puffing out in whispy clouds before them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, you think an old lady’d have a space heater.” Dean mumbled, teeth chattering softly in the gloomy silence of the basement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They turned the last corner till they could see the entire room. The back half that had the floor removed was shrouded in thick, unnatural shadow, as if someone or something was trying to hide it from them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam pulled two flashlights from the duffel slung over his shoulder and handed one to Dean. They clicked on in unison, identical hazy beams bouncing off upturned mounds of dirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here ghost-y ghost-y,” Dean murmured to the darkness, the peculiar stillness raising his hackles and putting him on edge. Together he and Sam approached the disturbed ground. There were no wailing shrieks of spirits or moving objects that assaulted them as they stood over what they assumed to be the impromptu grave of an unfortunate soul, just the ever-persistent cold and quiet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just get this over with.” Sam said, dropping his shotgun to the ground and pulling out a shovel, starting to move the black earth beneath them. After about fifteen minutes of digging, he spotted the white flash of bone and called out to his brother, who was keeping watch behind him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, I think I got something. Get over here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Dean asked, taking his eyes off the basement to look over his brother’s shoulder. Unfortunately, it was terrible timing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a blast of icy wind Dean was thrown off his feet, landing just beyond where Sam stood over the bones, shovel in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn it!” He shouted, struggling to stand as a transparent figure formed across from them. He shot the ghost full of rock salt before it could charge again, and scrambled to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Burn the bones!” He shouted at Sam, who was already on his knees, furiously digging out the remains. Dean cocked another shell and wheeled around as he felt another blast of cold wind begin to creep up the back of his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It looked like the boy, Isaac, his ghostly form wavering in the darkness. He held his hands out when Dean leveled the shotgun again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, stop!” But Dean fired before he could finish, and he dissipated into nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry up Sam!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am!” Sam shouted, accelerant and salt in hand as he finished uncovering the bones of the young boy. As he began to drench them and pull out his lighter the ghost showed up again, a far distance away, hovering in the lighter area of the basement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t understand!” Came his voice, soft and distorted, it sounded like he was yelling through an echo tunnel. “She’ll kill you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Sam had already dropped the lighter onto the grave, the fire flaring up in a rush of heat as Isaac screamed and burst into light. The basement was filled with blinding white for a moment before the smoke cleared. The ghost was gone and all that was left was the calming crackle of the fire, and the brother’s heaving breathing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Dean panted, dropping his shotgun and putting a hand on his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You OK?” Sam asked, leaving the fire to walk over to his brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry man, I think the ghost bruised one of your ribs.” He groaned, looking around to see the chaos of the basement. Many of the items that had been stacked on shelves were scattered around the floor, and dirt had been thrown everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I feel bad for whoever has to clean this up,” Dean joked, but Sam wasn’t paying attention. He was staring back at the dark corner, a stack of boxes that not only hadn’t been moved by the action, but was also barely touched by the light of the flame. Dean followed his gaze and saw what held his attention. Behind the boxes was a shadow, shifting slightly. Again, he got the feeling that he had felt when he first walked into the basement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam picked the shotgun off the ground and cocked it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think this is over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment they stood in tense silence, waiting for something to happen. And then, from behind the boxes, came a middle aged woman. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had black hair tied in a tight bun on the top of her head, and huge brown eyes. She was wearing a dirty sundress that one would find in the 90% discount isle of Goodwill and no shoes. She was covered head to toe in grime, and had a wide smile plastered on her face like a sticker. Her stance and expression was that of a small child, not an adult, and as she slowly approached them it seemed more like she was prowling than walking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for sending him away, yes.” She sighed, her wide eyes shining, unblinking. “He was getting to be such a pain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Sam asked coldly, raising the gun so it was pointed at her head. She stopped moving towards them with a hiss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flickered to something behind them and Sam turned to look, hoping it wasn’t another ghost, but she was just distracting him. With lighting fast movements she jumped forward, screeching as she ripped the shotgun from his hands and slammed it into the side of his head. Sam crumpled onto the ground as Dean reached for the other gun, but his bruised rib sent a stab pain through his side and he fell next to his brother as the woman brought the butt of the gun down on his skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s eyes opened slowly, and he was disoriented by the hair that was hanging over them. On instinct, he tried to bring his hand up to brush it away, but he realized his hands were tied behind him, and he was strapped to a chair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Snapping awake, he tried to survey his surroundings through his blurred vision, but beyond knowing that he was tied to a tiny chair in a cold, dark basement, he couldn’t make anything out. With a start, he realized he couldn’t see Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grunted, straining against the thick rope that bound his wrists and upper arms to the chair, as well as his ankles. He had no idea how one woman of that size would be able to do this in the first place, but then, he had thought this was just a ghost problem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get out here!” He yelled, his fight against the ropes proving useless. If only he could get the small knife in his sleeve to fall down into his palm…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His thoughts were interrupted by the woman’s re-appearance. She looked the same as she had when they first saw her, except that her face was less a mask of innocence and more a painting of crazy. Her smile was so wide her lips had curled back into a snarl, showing clenched teeth that were crooked and stained. Her wide brown eyes darted around like she couldn’t focus on anything, and her head jerked and bobbed on her thin neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes? Yes? Are you uncomfortable?” She asked, the tone of her voice bouncing up and down like she couldn’t decide what emotion to show. Dean felt his skin crawl as she came closer, her steps light and hesitant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would like to thank you, yes, I want to thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, hate to break it to you, whoever you are, most people don’t appreciate being tied up, let alone consider it a reward for a job well done. So why don’t you just untie me, tell me what you did with my brother, and we can handle this like a normal ‘hey you saved me’ ‘no problem’ scenario.” He tried to chuckle through his discomfort, his right arm twisting behind him as he tried to slide the knife down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Brother? Is that what you call the short one?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean let out a huff of air and rolled his eyes. “First of all I’m - I mean he’s - not that short. Second of all, seriously woman, we got rid of the ghost and you decided to tie us up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I am helping you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh great,” He muttered to himself as she came even closer, her smile widening somehow. “Another helping hand. Just what I need.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am going to set you free, yes,” she continued, ignoring his murmured words and jerks against the chair. “I am going to send you and the short one to Heaven, where you will play in the fields of the Lord for all eternity. You will be at peace and yes, you will be one with the Shepard, and you shall walk in his light, absolved of all sins of the flesh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great, looking forward to it. Has to be better than Hell.” He said, trying not to let his relief show as the knife slipped the rest of the way down and caught on his wrist. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to be sending my brother to heaven too, would you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He is already on his way, yes, on his way to the Lord.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean paused his sawing for a moment, caught off guard. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the woman was already disappearing into shadows, as going any farther than a few feet from his vision rendered her invisible in the nonexistent light of the basement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Get back here, I’m not done with you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere he heard a door shut, and he started again at the ropes, cursing under his breath. If she had done something to Sam, he would kill her himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam winced as he accidentally tugged on his arm, the red skin around his slit wrist brushing against rope. He groaned, hitting his head back against the cold metal table. He could’ve sworn he had heard his own voice, which meant Dean, yelling from somewhere. He didn’t quite know where the woman had taken him, but it definitely wasn’t the basement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Straining his ears, he heard her soft footsteps approaching. Then, her face came into his view.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, almost there. Nearly there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shuddered. He could feel his blood seeping from the cuts she had made, warm liquid dripping down his hands and falling from the tips of his fingers, which were held over two plastic tupperware containers. Vaguely, he remembered being captured by the ghouls that had disguised themselves as his half brother. Delirious, he almost laughed at the similarity, but her vacuous brown eyes were starting to fade into darkness and he could’ve sworn he heard Dean yelling from just below.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please India, you don’t have to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had put together what he could before he lost too much blood, even getting her to answer a few questions. She was insane, but honest at least. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>India had been inspired by her father’s sermons, she had become obsessed with the notion of Heaven, and everlasting peace. She became close with the altar boy, Isaac, and then he became more than a friend. She wanted to help him, to thank him she said. And so she locked him in her basement in the dead of winter. When her father had found out what she had done, he locked her away in that very basement, and pretended she didn’t exist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But she survived, and she found ways to escape that even her father didn’t know about. She said all she wanted was to free them, her victims. To ‘liberate them from their earthly concerns and send them to eternal peace.’ At least, that's what she told him as she sliced through his radial artery. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, you will feel nothing soon. Yes, nothing soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam decided to change tactics. There was something that still bugged him, something that didn’t match up. If he wanted to get out of here he needed to know everything, that, and maybe continuing to ask her questions would distract her long enough for Dean to find a way to escape.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“India,” He began, almost flinching as she turned back towards him, face contorted in a sick grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes?” She prompted, head bobbing up and down. She was clearly enjoying this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maddie, the old woman that lived here, you killed her didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sent her to Haven. To the everlasting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, that.” Sam tried to shift so he could see better, acutely aware of the fact that he could no longer feel the cuts on his arms. “But the examiner said that she froze to death. There’s no way you could’ve done that now, it's still early Fall.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>India hummed, leaning over him, hands fluttering over the dripping blood. It was another minute before she responded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My friends helped, yes they did. I could not get to her like I got the others. She was not alone, but she was in my house. She had to leave, oh yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your friends?” He asked, blinking past his swimming vision at her arbeit disturbing face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I called to them, asked them to get her for me.” She brought up a finger and tapped her temple. “They do what I ask, yes. When I ask.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But who are they India?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They are the ones that I freed. All except the first. Isaac yes, he tried to stop me, tried to warn her. But you got rid of him!” She squealed, clapping her hands. “And so,” She said, leaning in close enough that he could smell her breath, “I shall free you too. And we will be friends forever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just after she said that, there was a loud bang as the door to the room burst open, splinters of wood flying from the destroyed latch. Silhouetted by the light from what appeared to be the living room, was Dean, shotgun in hand. Sam heard a screech as India spun to face his brother, but he couldn’t see anything else. He sighed, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he passed out, vision fading to black.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam was woken up by someone shaking his shoulders. That, and a biting cold that seemed to seep into his bone marrow. He jerked into consciousness with a shiver, instinctively curling into the warmth of the arms that hovered around him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No time for cuddles Sammy, we gotta get you out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes, it was like drawing heavy velvet drapes. He blinked up at the face above him, blood loss making his brain function at half speed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me?” He slurred sleepily, not quite comprehending.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, just your big bro who looks like you. I know, it’s confusing.” He pulled Sam up by the arms, hauling his limp body into a sitting position. They were still in the room, Sam still on the table, but India was gone and his cuts bandaged with haste.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha…” Sam began to ask.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Crazy lady’s been scared off for now,” Dean explained as he leaned the still groggy Sam onto his shoulder, supporting his standing weight. “But I gotta get you back to the motel so I can clean the cuts on your arms and sew you up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam trembled, even colder now that he was standing and all of his body was exposed to the frigid air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cold…” He murmured into Dean’s shoulder, his mind too tired to work out why it was so much higher than normal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t know what kinda insulation this house has but it’s obviously shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean practically dragged Sam out of the room. Luckily, it was just off the living room, and they could see the front door almost as soon as they passed through the doorway. Unluckily, Dean had had to drop his shotgun, and before they made it to the exit, they were blasted back with a rush of freezing air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit!” Dean yelled as Sam collapsed and he struggled for purchase on the carpet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>India emerged from a dark hallway, her face scrunched in concentration. In front of the brothers, four or five flickering figures appeared, their forms hard to make out in the dim light, but they gave off their own, unearthly glow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit,” He said, quieter than before, but still just as pissed. “So she’s a psychic psycho. Perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He threw himself back as the ghosts lunged forward, scrabbling for the shotgun that he had left against the doorway of the room Sam had been in. He felt tentacles of ghastly cold reaching out for him as he grabbed the handle of the gun, and he spun around just in time to fire a salt shell right into the too close face of the nearest ghost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Take that you son of a bitch!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The glee didn’t last for long, as the other spirits howled and came for him. He fired two more shots into the oncoming ghosts before spotting India and running at her. Her face went from focused to fearful as he grabbed her, the knife he had used to get free held against her throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just as quickly as they had appeared, the ghosts were gone, untethered now that she was distracted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no!” She mewled, a piteous and yet demented sound. “Stop! No, no!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean backed off, lowering the blade. He was about to pull out his phone to call the police when she ran at him, thin arms outstretched and her face twisted with rage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“DIE!” She screamed, jumping at him. But he was faster. She stopped, a breath away, gasping. Her hands trembled as she looked down, where Dean had pushed the knife in all the way to the handle, digging up through her ribs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at his face one last time, eyes wide and unbearably empty, before she slumped over his arm, blood beginning to seep from her stomach, soaking into her ratted dress.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean grunted, pulling out the knife and causing her body to fall to the floor in an undignified heap. His ears popped with unexpected pressure, and the room became cold for a minute more, before it was gone, and the night was peaceful once again, like the world had let out a breath it had been holding in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hastily wiped the blood off the blade by dragging it across the front of his jacket before stowing it back in his sleeve and rushing over to Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was lying where he left him, unconscious but with even breathing, if shallow. Gently, he rolled him onto his back and lifted him to his feet. Sam mumbled something unintelligible as Dean hoisted him over his shoulders into a fireman’s carry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know…” Dean huffed as he went through the front door, “If you weren’t down almost three pints of blood… I’d make you walk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s only response was a low moan and what almost sounded like the beginning of a snore as they slowly made their way back to the motel.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One more to go!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Couple of Things...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And so, the two brothers left with a newfound appreciation for life, and light hearts knowing that in the end, it wasn't the destination that mattered, but the FRiEndS tHEy mAdE AlOnG THe wAY.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A short, cheesy, wrap-up chapter for ya'll. Don't cry, it's unbecoming.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean sighed, leaning into the chair until his back cracked with a satisfying pop. He stretched his arms over his head to crack his shoulders before looking over at his brother. Sam was lying on the bed, arms stitched up and bandaged, and drugged into a hopefully peaceful sleep. Every few seconds the refreshing silence was broken by his hiccuping snores, which made Dean wonder if that was because it was Sam, his body, or some strange combination of medicine and blood loss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help the light chuckle at seeing his body twisted into one of Sam’s odd sleeping positions, a habit that he never got sick of teasing Sam for. It always sort of reminded him of Marty McFly from Back to the Future, shoes in bed and all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was pulled out of his reverie by a sharp rap at the door and he groaned, entirely unwilling to deal with anything else that night. He winced as he stood, hand going to his side where the rib he had bruised earlier radiated with a steady, throbbing ache.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The knock came again, louder and more forcefully, and it almost made Dean want to yell “Fuck off!” and go to bed. The only reason they ever answered doors was in case it was some motel manager wanting to kick them out, usually easily solved by a few palmed $50s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slid the latch off the top and opened the door, immediately taking a step back as he saw who had been knocking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Son of a bitch…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And ‘hello’ to you as well, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The witch stepped over the threshold, her hands grasped in front of her and her eyelids fluttering innocently up at him. She was wearing the exact same clothes, that horrible red sash swaying delicately over her bare feet. She smiled, and closed the door behind her. Dean grabbed his pistol from the table, never taking his eyes off of her, watching her but not moving as she went past, heading for Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell do you want now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, I have never hurt you and I’m not about to start now. Anyway,” She said, gently laying one hand on top on Sam’s forehead, “You solved my problem. The danger is past.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get away from him.” Dean hissed, stepping forward but not raising his gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The witch sighed, turning around and crossing her arms. Although he knew she wasn’t young by any stretch of the imagination, the move made her look like a complaining child.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really, Dean. And here I was, all ready to reverse the spell thinking you learned something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” He said, straightening up from his defensive posture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“From what I see, without waking him up of course, is that your brother did in fact grow from this little experience. And I’d like to think you did too, though seeing as you’d most likely fire that gun at my head if I try and read you, I cannot be certain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we could’ve died but we pretty much do that every week so I wouldn’t call that growth, per se.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled, and it almost looked like she was pitying him. He scoffed and clicked the safety on, throwing the gun down on his own bed before gesturing for her to say whatever it was she was keeping in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then,” she began. “I see you’d like an explanation.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No shit, Sherlock.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She ignored him. “You and your brother were once very close. Your energies are more entwined than any I’ve ever seen. You’re practically soulmates. However, I saw the weight that crushed you, a guilt carried by both that drove you apart. Sam, terrified of his destiny, refused to seek out your council because he felt that he failed you. And you, so ashamed of situations beyond your control, let him distance himself because you too were afraid that you could never be redeemed of your actions.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the witch raised her hand and shook her head, and he broke off into silence as she went on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There were too many secrets, too many lies and mistrusts and hidden concerns. It was breaking you both. If you had continued on that path, eventually the pain would have driven you apart completely, and the powers that be would get their war.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This made Dean’s head snap up, and he took another step forward.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you know about the apocalypse?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged, speaking as if she was discussing a new recipe or job promotion instead of the end of the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m almost a thousand years old, of course I know what’s happening in the world. Heaven and Hell, working in tandem to push you two onto their path.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we stop it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She walked forward until she stood right in front of him, the top of her head barely reaching his chest. Once again, Dean was stricken with just how tall his brothers’ body was. Still, the witch reached up, going onto her toes to put her hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s up to you.” She said, and Dean shivered as a buzzing current of what felt like electricity shot through him, followed by an unnatural exhaustion. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep well, Dean Winchester.” She whispered as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “It may not make you feel much better, but you have my blessing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing he saw before the rushing wave of sleep crested over him, were her lips, blood red, and smiling sadly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam groaned as he woke up, his chest humming with pain but overall, feeling better than he did the last time he was awake. He tried to sit up, and failed miserably. Gasping, he fell back and tried to take in deep breaths as the stabbing sensation ebbed and eventually eased back into the low but steady ache.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bringing his hand to his eyes, he brushed back the hair that always seemed to get caught in his eyelashes as he slept. He would often think to himself that tying the hair back before he went to bed would fix the problem, but the idea of Dean mocking him for even owning a hair tie usually left him to tolerate a bit of annoyance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” he called out, his voice croaking as he spoke up to the ceiling. When did he get on the floor? It wasn’t like either of them to roll off a bed, even with consistent nightmares, tossing and turning was obnoxious at the best of times, deadly at the worst.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tried again to sit up, this time conscious that somehow, his torso was injured. He maneuvered himself so that he could slide up the side of the bed slowly, one hand wrapped around his chest and the other pressed into the floor. Leveraging his feet, he pushed down and out, straightening his legs as he propelled himself upwards until he was sitting straight up, back leaning heavily on the bed for support.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean!” He yelled now, and the body on the other bed groaned and shifted, which meant his brother wasn’t dead, so better than nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t remember much from the previous night, in fact all the concrete details from the past few days were blurry if not gone completely. He couldn’t bring up images of things he had seen or places he had been. He groaned, shutting his eyes in concentration, but still, the memories eluded him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, wake up.” He said, hitting the opposite bed with the hand not wrapped around his chest. The person moved again, but he didn’t seem to be getting up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cursing under his breath, Sam struggled to stand, but before he got all the way up something struck him. India, last night, bleeding him out on the table… he should be dizzy, disoriented at least. He looked at his wrists, rubbing over the uncut veins, not bandaged, no signs of scars at all. He brushed the hair back from his face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he spoke, the man on the bed groaned again and shifted so that he was facing Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sammy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean?” Sam rushed over so he was standing over his brother, his brother in his own body, who was pale and shivering. “Oh, God, I’m sorry Dean, let me get you another blanket.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling the covers off his own bed, Sam tried his best to carefully spread them around Dean. His brother sighed weakly as he tucked the blankets around his sides.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeez Sammy, you wanna be a little bit more careful next time we switch bodies?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam chuckled before getting to the down and dirty, something he knew Dean would hate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How ya feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, you should know, you felt it last night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well it might’ve gotten worse. I don’t think either of us are very well versed in the side-effects of body swapping magic.” He noticed Dean was still wearing shoes, and began to untie them. “Speaking of, any idea why we switched back?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One or two,” Dean winced as Sam tugged off one boot, then the other. He sighed again and pressed his head back into the pillow. “She said that we learned something. What? I have no clue.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, so you talked to her when I was… out?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh, yeah I did.” He said, content now that he was in a comfortable position, though he would never admit that his brother had helped him so much in some sob speech. Instead he gave him a twirked grin. “Thanks, Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” He smiled back for a moment, then cleared his throat. “So, uh, what did she say, exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well apparently this was an experiment.” He yawned and shut his eyes before continuing. “She thought we had too many secrets, too much guilt, and us going all ‘Goodbye Charlie’ would fix it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you… do you think she was right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I think she might’ve been. Though the day I compliment a witch’ll be the day I admit to liking tall dark men.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam cracked into a laugh, and Dean joined in soon after.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Long story short, I think we’re good.” He said after they had both calmed down again, Sam wiping a tear or two from the corner of his eye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re as good as the two of us can ever be I guess. Now all we have to worry about is the damn apocalypse.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. Not today man. We got rid of a crazy, ghost summoning murderer, we got our bodies back in order, and according to Witch MD. we figured out at least some of our chick flick problems.” Sam began to shake his head but Dean went on. “No more problem solving for a week. What you’re gonna do, O brother mine, is wrap that rib, take some painkillers, and pick up a couple of things at Mac’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A couple of things?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! Breakfast and the waitress, gotta go get em tiger.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam grabbed the pillow off his bed and tossed it at Dean’s head as his brother guffawed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re freaking unbelievable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>THE END</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed my tentative toe-dip into case fics and humor instead of just aggressively expressing my trauma through my comfort characters :))</p>
<p>If you liked this or want to see more, please leave some kudos and ESPECIALLY COMMENTS!! Thank you and have a spectacular day. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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